Paper Tiger
by dukeblue
Summary: After the events of 'Minimal Loss', Hotch realizes that he's not as strong inside as the image he portrays. He also realizes that the time has come to share his feelings. My first Criminal Minds story. I welcome any constructive feedback. H/P


**Paper Tiger**

Hotch had always been the strong one, the one who kept things together and focused. It had been that way his entire life – from the time his dad died, and he'd become the man of the house, the rock for his mom to lean on and the example for his brother to emulate.

They'd arrived at the command post outside the compound to assume control of the situation – and Hotch immediately recognized the need to have an expert negotiator in control. With the emotional investment he had – two of his agents among the hostages – that choice was not him. Instead he asked Dave to take the lead. It took some convincing, but Hotch knew it was the right decision.

It was Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner who had kicked the self-righteous Colorado Attorney General out of the command post – and the crime scene that he had created from his own hubris. But when that same AG's office had leaked the news of the FBI agent inside, it was Aaron the man who listened in agony as SSA Emily Prentiss suffered at the hands of cult leader Benjamin Cyrus. He hung his head, the headphones over his ears conveying every kick and punch, as she took the beating he gave.

He wanted to go after her, get her out, no matter the risk to everyone else.

He shook his head to Dave's reminder that they couldn't respond.

He saw the agony on Dave and Morgan's faces as they, too, listened to her suffering.

He heard the breaking glass, the connecting of fist to face, heard her calling out that she could take it. She could, but he couldn't. He knew that she was talking to them, not her captor. He also knew inside that he wasn't as strong as the image he portrayed to his team and the rest of the world.

If he lost her, he didn't know if he could go on. And he'd never told her a thing. It nearly broke him then and there.

He suffered along with her anguish.

When it was over and she came out of the compound and walked toward him, he felt his lungs fill with the first deep breath he'd taken since seeing the news report in the bullpen and knowing she was in danger. He saw the wounds that Cyrus had inflicted, and he nearly broke again. All he wanted was to rush forward and take her in his arms. Instead, he held back and watched as she and Reid embraced in relief and comfort after their ordeal.

His time would come.

***

He watched on the plane as she went and sat with Reid, ensuring that the younger agent knew her injuries weren't his fault. His watchful gaze reassured him that she was fine. Yes, she'd been checked out by medics at the site, but that didn't stop him from worrying – and keeping watch over her.

It wasn't until they disembarked that he approached her, coming to her side and taking her ready bag from her hand. She looked up at him with questions in her eyes, but said nothing, just followed him to his SUV. The team had sensed their leader's need to care for her; it was in something he'd started to say but never finished while they were at the command post. _"If something happens to Prentiss or Reid, I…I don't know…" _Dave knew, knew that there was something between the two profilers – something they'd yet to explore or even give a name to themselves. Perhaps this was the beginning they needed to see what was there. They'd be good together.

Hotch put their bags in the SUV as she climbed in the passenger side and closed the door. As he turned to get in, he made eye contact with Rossi. The elder profiler nodded at his one-time protégé in understanding. Hotch answered his nod with one of his own and slid into the driver's seat. He said nothing as he turned on the ignition and moved the gear shift to D. He easily navigated through DC traffic toward her condo.

She broke the silence by trying to offer some words of reassurance. "I really am fine, sir."

Sir. Damn how he hated that word sometimes. Now was one of those times.

He couldn't say anything back. Not right now. Words would have to wait until they weren't coursing through traffic.

He looked over and saw her studying him, a look of concern on her face. Her beautiful face.

He just nodded.

It wasn't long before they pulled up in front of her building. He shifted the vehicle into park and shut off the engine, unbuckling his seat belt and opening the door in one swift movement. He was at the rear door removing her bag before she was there, intending to walk her up to her door.

She said nothing as he locked up the SUV and motioned for her to lead, just cocked her eyebrow at the light placement of his right hand against the small of her back as though it belonged there. It took a few minutes for the elevator to arrive in the lobby, and as they waited, Hotch noticed how well she fit beside him as she allowed herself to lean closer to him, relaxing into his side. He allowed himself to enjoy this little moment.

When the elevator arrived at her floor, he followed closely behind her toward her condo. She unlocked her door and turned to him.

"Coffee?"

The man obviously had something on his mind, and it would be better for him to get it out here, in private.

"Yes, thank you." He sighed in gratitude as he followed her inside. He set her bag down near the front door and gazed around her condo. It looked nearly the same as it had the last time he was here, though he recognized a new print hanging on the wall near the stairs.

He followed her into the kitchen, watching as she efficiently went about making coffee for them both. She set mugs on the counter island before looking up at him. She had shed her shoes and the sweater she'd been wearing on the plane, leaving her in only a soft grey pull-over and her stocking feet.

"I like the new print. Kandinsky, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Something I learned to love from my father. We spent a lot of time overseas when I was growing up; I was lucky to be able to see a lot of museums."

"Kandinsky is a favorite of mine, too." He smiled at her, a rare thing he didn't share with many. He thought he saw her give a slight blush as she turned to get the coffee pot.

She poured the aromatic brew in each of the mugs and replaced the pot on the warmer. When she'd turned back around, he had taken their mugs into the living room, placing them on the coffee table and settling on the couch. He looked at her expectantly. She padded over to join him, curling up at one end of the sofa with her feet beneath her. He handed her one of the mugs and took his own as she addressed the elephant in the room.

"Are you going to share what's on your mind, sir?"

He put his mug back down on the coaster and closed his eyes at her use of the formal word again. He sat with his arms resting on his knees as he contemplated how to form the necessary words to tell her what he'd been feeling.

After several moments of silence, she reached out to him.

"Hotch?" she whispered, moving to put a hand on his back.

He finally broke.

***

She was shocked to see the movement in his shoulders at her touch, when she realized what he was doing. Her staid and stoic Unit Chief, the rock of the BAU, was crying. Sobbing, really. Without making a sound, he had broken. She moved to put her arm around his shoulders and looked down at his face. Tears were flowing down his face, his eyes clenched shut.

"Oh Hotch," she whispered, pulling him close against her, cradling his head against her chest, so he could just let it out. She felt his arms wrap around her and pressed her lips lightly against his dark hair.

She knew how he felt; she'd cried many a night after he'd been so severely injured in the blast in New York – though she'd never reached out to him. She had her friends to lean on, and it had taken one long night with Pen – a night similar to this – where she'd finally been able to let go. She'd cried out her grief and fears over what might have been with Garcia holding her and letting her sob. She'd never thought she'd see this bare emotion coming from the object of her affection. But she understood it.

She didn't know how long it had been – at least an hour. He'd finally quieted, his breathing slowing to a gentle in and out, and judging by the lack of movement in his shoulders, the sobbing had stopped. She'd been softly stroking his hair and whispering to him, trying to soothe the obvious pain he was in.

When he moved to sit up, she reached for the tissue box on the coffee table. She wiped away the moisture from his cheeks with a Kleenex, but he caught her hand when she tried to move back.

"Don't…" he whispered.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. She thought she'd embarrassed him. She knew how little he shared with others.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Don't move away. I don't want that anymore."

"Sir?"

That damn word again.

"And please don't call me sir. I hate that word. Especially right now," he told her.

She could see his eyes growing darker. She noticed they did that when he was really angry. But he didn't seem that way right now. What else was it?

"Okay. Hotch?"

"Better," he said, locking eyes with her and still holding on to her hand. "Emily, there's something I need to…" He broke off, not continuing. He sighed and dropped his eyes down to look at the floor.

She waited patiently, knowing this was hard for him. She lightly caressed the hand that was holding hers with her thumb.

Finally, he spoke again, but didn't move his eyes from their focus on the floor. "Outside that compound, listening to what Cyrus was doing to you, it was almost too much to bear. I wanted to go in right then and get you out. I would have too, if it hadn't been for Rossi. It nearly killed me to hear that beating…hear you tell us that you could take it…"

She gasped at his admission, squeezing his hand. "Hotch…" Her voice was soft and raspy, trying to get his attention, but he wouldn't look at her. Finally she reached out with her free hand, pulling up gently on his chin until she could see the pain etched on his face at his confession.

"I have my own confession," she told him softly.

"Oh?" he watched her with confusion.

"I wasn't talking to everyone when I said that. I was telling you. I knew you'd be listening, that you'd want to come in after me and Reid." She reached out and cupped his cheek with her hand. "I know how much you care about your team."

He covered her hand with his, holding it against his face. "It's not the team. It was you I was coming in after. You, Emily. I don't know how or when it happened, but I find myself unable to imagine my life without you in it. I was so worried that I wouldn't have a chance to see you again, or…"

He moved to look away from her. She wouldn't let him, bringing him back to look into her eyes.

"Or what?" she wanted him to continue.

He gave a slight shake to his head.

"Hotch, it's okay. You can tell me anything," she said softly, brushing the hair along his forehead.

"It's just…I was scared I'd lose you. I'd never be able to tell you how I feel, or be able to…"

"To?"

"To hold you." There. It was out there.

"And how do you feel?"

He swallowed. Hard. He blinked. And again.

"You said you wanted to be able to hold me?" she asked him.

He swallowed and nodded.

"How about this?" She leaned forward and pressed her lips gently against his. He was stiff at first, and she angled her mouth and moved closer to him. She felt him start to relax and respond to her. He moaned into her kiss, opening his lips to the gentle persuasion of her tongue. One arm went around her and his free hand came up to cup the side of her face.

She started at his touch and backed away slightly. He didn't miss her reaction and pulled away from her.

"I hurt you," he said, concern in his eyes.

"No, you would never hurt me. It's just sensitive there," she said. She reached out and took his hand, bringing it up to her face once again. "See. You're not hurting me. It'll just take a little time to heal."

He softly caressed her face, moving his lips over the scrapes and bruises left over from her ordeal at the compound. When he reached her mouth again, he found her a willing partner, giving and taking as she moaned. He pulled her close, laying her across his lap and exploring her mouth. His hands traced the contours of her body, reveling in the reactions he felt coming from her. One hand snuck beneath the hem of her shirt, finding soft, smooth skin that was warm to his touch.

He broke from her mouth, kissing softly down her face to her neck.

She softly called his name. _Aaron…_

He chuckled. So much better than _Sir_.

He pulled back and looked at her, using one hand to brush back her hair. She slowly blinked her eyes open and stared up at him in wonder.

This was her boss she was laying across…her boss that wanted her, if the hardness she could feel pressing against her hip was any indication. She smiled up at him with kiss-swollen lips.

"This is so…" he couldn't find just the right word to finish his thought.

"Unexpected?" she suggested.

He nodded. "Amazing. Fast. Overwhelming. I'm not sure which one fits."

"I think they all do," she said, tracing the features of his face with just one finger. "We don't have to figure this all out tonight, you know. We have as much time as we want. We just have to get started, and I think we have. Don't you?"

"Yes, and I don't want it to end."

"I don't either," she told him. She moved off him, standing in front of the couch and offering him her hand. He looked up at her in question.

"Come on," she said. He took her hand and followed her upstairs, offering no resistance as she began to unbutton his shirt. She pulled it free from his trousers and pushed it from his shoulders, letting it fall to her bedroom floor. She followed suit with his shoes, socks, t-shirt and pants, leaving him in just his boxers. She led him to her bed, pulling back the covers and settling him back against the pillows and silky sheets.

"I'll be right back," she said. When she returned, she was in just a tank top and pajama pants. She turned out the light and climbed in, curling up beside him.

"What are you doing?" he finally asked.

"Keeping your nightmares away," she answered. "You don't always have to put on a brave front."

"I always have," he whispered back.

"We can lean on each other now. And tomorrow we'll pick up where we left off," she said softly.

She felt his arms tighten around her. And when his breathing evened and she thought he was asleep, she whispered into the darkness.

"I love you, my paper tiger."

He smiled. He loved her too.

_**The END**_


End file.
